


Medicine

by arixtides



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Actually mainly comfort, Fluff, Hurt & Comfort, Like, M/M, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arixtides/pseuds/arixtides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is a human. And he soon learns of one of the biggest flaws concerning ‘being human’. Thank God that Dean helps him through the sickness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Medicine

**Author's Note:**

> TFW SECRET SANTA EXCHANGE  
> Hope whomever I got likes what I did. I chose the task: Human!Cas gets sick, and Dean helps him get better.  
> (Also totally ignoring most things that happened in S9 so far. Just imagine Cas had fallen, the boys found him, took him in and since then, they’ve been together, hunting.)  
> Hope all of you have a great Christmas! ♥
> 
> (On a short notice, this seems rushed as fuck because my maximum was 3k words…)
> 
> Like/Reblog on [ tumblr ](http://arixtides.tumblr.com/post/76870390735/medicine)? 
> 
>  
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Supernatural, and I will probably never earn money by writing.

 

It would have been a lie to say that Castiel had learnt to accommodate completely.

Of course, he somewhat adapted and even acquired a fairly human lifestyle – but the fine-tuning was so very difficult because, frankly, he had spent thousands of years as a celestial being.

But then he suddenly was all human and it _hurt_ , literally everything did. That was the first thing about humanity that he learnt the hard way: moving the wrong limb, not being able to calculate damage, all the things that never mattered to an Angel. All of that would make things go blurry and it would make him sore all-over.

(He had to endure quite the lessons from Dean about that. For the first time, Cas actually realised how hard it all must have been on the Winchesters – they surely endured worse injuries than him. Also, just thinking of how it must have been in Hell made him shiver now. He _thought_ he had an idea, but he had to re-think, now that he finally understood how pain worked for human beings.)

Second thing he learnt? _Thirst_. Inevitably, also hunger. Not just hunger of wanting to, but hunger of _having to_ , which was a completely different level, honestly.

The third thing was to never, _ever_ , enter the hotel room if there were weird noises coming from the inside.

(Yes, that one was as awkward as it might sound.)

Some other things were minor, like never reaching for the remote because that meant war. (Not on an apocalyptic level, but it was close enough.) Also, never drink the last beer. Don’t forget the pie. No, seriously. _Don’t._ Feet off of the coffee table (until Sam left the room). Never question Dean’s authority concerning music. Don’t stare longer than four seconds (unless it’s Dean). Also, _be careful, you don’t have fucking mojo, Cas! If you get injured no one knows what’ll happen!_

Quite simple rules – some he figured out along the way, some were delivered by the brothers themselves, directly. Either way, they were not that hard to follow.

And, really, Cas had thought that he was getting a grip, that he’d begun figuring humanity out, that he was adjusting just about well and he was actually getting _used to it_ , and he actually liked how Dean would subconsciously look out for him.

However, as it always was with Team Free Will – just when you figured that things were okay (good, even), there came something along to punch you in the face like _you didn’t really think everything would just be alright, did you?_

While some might have laughed at the irony of it all, Castiel couldn’t even be bothered to do anything but frown, as it was another situation that he had brought onto himself.

Castiel now had the questionable honour of experiencing _human sickness_.

 

* * *

 

 

When the first snow had begun falling, Dean had _insisted_ Cas should start to wear at least three layers, and then some. His reasoning was that Cas’ would experience his _first_ winter, so it only made sense to adjust his body as careful as humanly possible.

In the beginning, Castiel had relented, let Dean have his way even though pullover _and_ sweatshirt _and_ trench coat _and_ multifunctional all-weather jacket were too much for _anyone_ to pull it off without looking utterly ridiculous. At first, Sam had thought Dean was just making fun of Cas – turns out that, nope, he was completely serious.

So, after a few days, both Sam and Castiel told Dean that he should consider that it might be a little stupid. And in the end, Dean just grumbled, and waved them off with a grumpy ‘whatever’. Sam had given Cas a thumbs-up, before proceeding to pack his belonging into a duffel, so that they could soon continue their journey.

It must have been some time during the next day (Dean did not talk to either of them and preferred sulking) that he caught the illness. A well-known fact, even to Castiel, was that humans did not get sick simply due to the cold. However, cold could very much influence your body’s immunity system. Cas had not known how much of an influence it could be – if he had, than he would probably not have accompanied Sam to this new town’s grocery store. (Meanwhile, Dean was off to a bar somewhere, _still_ not talking to either of them, _still_ mad at simply being dismissed.)

 So, two and a half day after that, Castiel unexpectedly began to sneeze and cough at the most random moments, and he could practically feel Dean’s eyes on him, could just very well imagine the other’s smug grin, almost screaming _I told you so_. At first, the former angel didn’t get it – _what_ exactly was Dean so satisfied about? Shouldn’t Cas’ well-being be of more concern to him?

Then, Sam went on to explain (after Cas had asked in a very confused manner as to _where_ that sickness came from so suddenly), that it was due to an ICP of generally about 2.5 days when it came to the flu. (And that most certainly did explain Dean’s smug smirk.)

Now, it should be made clear that angels did not get sick (at least not in a way that would be comparable to human disease), and Castiel really did believe that it would go away swiftly, that it would in no way get worse than the annoying momentum of having to fetch a tissue.

Only when it became obvious that he was all out of luck in that department (it kept getting worse, actually), Cas began to regret brushing Dean’s concerns off in honest. (Before that, the complacent grin had kept him from any regrets or apologies.) By the time Castiel was ready to admit to himself that he would need to lay low for a few days, both Winchester brothers were on edge already; and their excessive anxiety, more than anything else, had him more worried by a tenfold.

In the matter of two hours, they had sought out a motel (not even a cheap one), and practically forced Cas to get in bed (not that he was complaining – his head spun so much when he was standing or sitting; laying down was probably the only option that left him feel a little level-headed, period.)

It had been a fair share of weird to watch the brothers’ faces morph from self-satisfied (Dean) and slight-concern (Sam) to way-more-than-slight-concern (Sam again) and outright-panic (Dean, surprisingly enough). Castiel still could not grasp as to why they were so nervous (he didn’t feel like he would die because of this ‘flu’), but he did feel weirdly … flattered. And glad in a way: at least, he wasn’t alone.

And what an amazing feeling _that_ was – for the first time in a long, long while, Castiel did not feel lonely, or left-behind. He felt included, actually, in a very nice way (he did want to tell Sam and Dean about that, but they ended up simultaneously shushing him).

Still; despite their slight clucking, it was yet in the realms of normal: Sam being the adult one, being reasonable, and Dean being the one making lewd comments and inappropriate jokes, his gaze flashing in Cas’ direction every other moment, trying to make out whether he was as ‘okay’ as he told them.

It was when Cas first threw up that the mood shifted gravely. In a matter of seconds, Dean had been patting his back, handing him a toothbrush and a glass of water ( _Dehydration is the enemy, Cas.),_ before telling Sam to simply go and find a ‘fucking’ pharmacy to get some ‘damn’ medicine against it all.

Dean took charge so naturally that Cas couldn’t help but wonder how many times Sam must have been in this situation, Dean at his side – always watching over him.

It might have sounded weird, but it was actually sort of very reassuring, calming.

Also, it felt good to have someone sit there that apparently knew what he was talking about, concerning sickness.

“So, let me get that straight; fever, headache, coughing, stuffy nose, vomiting,” Dean listed, fetching him another glass water from the small motel kitchen. “That all?”

Cas nodded, wondering what else could possibly have been there for him to catch also. He did feel like everything was wrong with his body that possibly could have been.

“Yeah, that’s a flu. Probably nothing more, but also nothing less. I mean, Sammy had these constantly when he was younger. It’s because you’re not used to the cold,” Astoundingly, there was no accusation or smugness in his tone, even though after all Dean _did_ tell him, and Cas _chose_ to ignore it. “Sam’s going to fetch you some Advil or something and you’ll be better soon. You cold, Cas?”

Cas blinked, thought about it and then realised that yes, he did feel cold. Which was weird, considering that his temperature was higher than average. He nodded, and Dean gathered the blanket from his own bed, carefully placing it over Cas’, tugging him in in a almost fatherly way, and Cas couldn’t help but wonder if Dean knew he was being quite … endearing.

“Why did I get my own room, anyway?” Cas asked, staring at the door that separated his bed from the room where the brothers would be sleeping later tonight.

“Because you’re sick, Cas. Flu spreads like crazy.”

“Oh,” Cas said, feeling a little stupid. Then again, it wasn’t his fault he had never been human, before. “Should you be in here at all, then?”  
  
“No, not at all. But someone has to take care of you, Cas. You almost passed out in the bathroom.”

And what could he possibly have replied to that? “Thank you, Dean.”

“You’re welcome, Cas.” Dean smiled warmly for a second but Cas was barely able to reciproceate, other than a weak smile. His eyes drifted shut, and he could feel Dean’s cold hand on his forehead before finally drifting off into a troubled sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

When he woke up again (he barely had slept an hour he realised upon gazing at the alarm clock on the bed side table), Dean was in the other bed room, talking in a hushed voice. He was on the phone, Cas realised, because he highly doubted Dean was talking to himself.

It was chilly in the room because the window had been opened, fresh air circulating. Cas shivered, then sighed, feeling completely drained. He was so, _so_ tired. And yet his body couldn’t seem to come to a rest.

(Next second, he wondered what kind of amazing hearing Dean must have, because he poked his head in, looked at Cas, then ended the call curtly.)

“That was Sammy. He’s on his way back now,” Dean informed, his eyes landing on the window. “Want me to close it? I just wanted some of the ‘sickness’ air going away.”

“Yes, thank you,” Cas mumbled, eyes following Dean’s every movement. “That is very attentive of you.”

“Nah, it’s just, y’know, common sense. That’s how you treat sick people,” Dean replied, and Cas nodded, even though he doubted that _everyone_ would be that careful, that observant. “Hungry?”

Cas shook his head; he doubted he could eat anything, period. However, Dean frowned before insisting, “I’ll just make something anyway. Mum’s infamous chicken soup. That’s what helped Sammy get healthy again, too, when we were kids.”

He simply nodded in reply, feeling like he would find no way to say no to a Dean that was this adamant and (dare he think it) worried.

“Okay, good. I’ll be back in a few. Try to sleep again.” Dean instructed, and Cas nodded, trying to snuggle deeper into the warm, comforting blankets.

 

 

Cas didn’t really sleep, at all. His body was so exhausted, moving was barely manageable; his mind also wanted to rest, he could feel that clearly. But his thoughts still raced, though, and he thought about everything and nothing at all – and it didn’t really help to cease his headache.

His one major topic – and his thoughts _always_ got back to that one –was his caretaker, Dean.

Which only made sense, since he was the only person Cas had seen these past 48 and something hours; it was out of question for anyone else to even take a step in the room’s direction. 1) Because apparently the flu easily spreads and there only should be one caretaker and 2) because, as Sam had put it, _What the hell, Dean; You’re being a protective dick, you jerk!,_ so that’s that _._

Not that Cas was complaining. He felt _precious_ , which is probably an awkward way to put it, but true. This treatment made him feel special and it made being ill only half as bad, honestly.

He was almost (but really, only _almost_ ) sad to feel how he got gradually better, healthier. Yet, he was also very happy to see Dean’s smile break free whenever Cas got a little steadier, health wise.

“Seems like you’re almost good again, Cas,” Dean said, that evening, now empty bowl of soup on his lap. “How does that feel, huh? First sickness successfully survived?”

“it is a good feeling, certainly,” Cas replied, smiling, before adding. “Though it was mainly because of your assistance. Thank you, Dean.”

“Ah, c’mon, not really. It was only decent to be there to you, since we’re friends and all.” Dean replied, waving him off with a smile.

“Still, I owe you my gratitude. You’re a good… _friend_.”

And they both heard Cas’ pause, and the way he seemed to disagree with the word. And he did. They were more than that, even though Dean had refrained from touching him these past three days. (Understandably.)

Cas simply couldn’t understand what Dean’s problem with the term partner was. Or boyfriend. Or anything that was not _friend_. He was friends with Sam. Or perhaps, even Kevin these past few months. But not Dean. He refused that.

As he got worked up about it, a cough shook him furiously, before he inhaled deeply, trying to get a grip of his own body.

Dean, small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, patted Cas’ head (the same way you’d treat a sick kid), before he finally said, “I promise, we’ll figure it out. But not while you’re sick. Get better, okay, and then we’ll see.”

“Yes.” Cas said solemnly, and Dean chuckled at his earnestness.

“You’re definitely something else, Cas,” Dean laughed as he made his way to the door. Before he eventually closed it, he said, “G’night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

 


End file.
